


DragonCon

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Have I Said Crack Enough?, I Don't Even Know, Muggle Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20928776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Hermione and Charlie attend a dragon convention... or so they think.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts).

> For LadyKenz347, my LibraPuff Partner In Crime and favorite graphics goddess: happy birthday, love! I hope this little fic puts a smile on your face!
> 
> Alpha love to the endlessly phenomenal mcal, who also prompted this piece for me. <3

Her first clue that something was wrong: there was a parade of oddly dressed people walking up and down the street. They seemed to be in costumes, rather than the traditional, close-fitting robes she was used to seeing.

  
Her second clue that something was wrong: when the doors swung open into the large reception area, she was not greeted by a house-elf in a fluffy, cotton towel. Instead, what appeared to be a very tall man, donning hard, white plastic from head to foot, carrying what she hoped was a fake weapon, spoke to them through some sort of voice changing device and ushered them further into the room.

When she glanced to Charlie out of the corner of her eye, he seemed just as confused with wide eyes and a nervous smile on his face. Hermione took a deep breath as the crowd around her pushed onward, and followed through another set of doors. She fiddled with the VIP badge around her neck and chewed on her lip as Charlie’s hand came down to the small of her back and guided her forward.

Her third clue that something was terribly, terribly wrong: a woman, probably her own age at a ripe, young, nearly forty, was covered head to toe in dark blue body paint with a horrendous reddish-colored wig with waves all the way down her mid-back. Was she wearing a bra and underwear? Hermione couldn’t tell, but she stared with her mouth hanging open until the crowd bustled further into the gigantic room ahead.

“Charlie.” Hermione’s hand wrapped around his thick forearm, nails clenching into his skin. “Where are we? This doesn’t look like--”

Charlie ducked his head, rust-colored hair tickling her cheek as he spoke quietly in her ear. “You always get a few weirdos at these things. It’s probably magic, yeah? The dragons will be here somewhere.”

Hermione wasn’t so sure. She steeled herself as the throngs of people — dispersed into various directions around them. Excitement thrummed through the air. People cheered, cameras snapped candid photos, and big, burly men burst through the small groups of onlookers as they stood with their eyes darting in every direction, toward what appeared to be stalls with names hung in big, white posters.

Her heart hammered. There were no dragons here. And these were definitely Muggles.

“Charlie.” More urgency, tone drenched in the panic she felt rising in her throat. “This isn’t a convention for dragons.”

“Of course it is,” he chuckled, and dragged her off to the side where there was some free space between groups of strangely dressed people. “Listen, this is probably the owners’ idea of a joke is all. Why wouldn’t Dragon Con be a convention for dragons?”

“Excuse me!” Hermione reached out and tapped a stranger on the shoulder. When the man turned to her, his body covered in a black material that clung to him in a way that should be illegal, she gasped and jumped back. His entire face was covered and he had  _ cats ears _ on his head. He looked like… “Are you… a  _ panther _ ?”

His face split into a grin. “Black Panther. You have seen the movie, haven’t you? He’s the best superhero Marvel has written in ages. Way cooler than Captain America.”

“Captain... “ Hermione froze. Oh, bugger. “Sir—”

“Are you a witch?” The man went on to ask, smiling and pulling a small phone from his pocket and holding it up. “Can we get a photo? Are these official robes? Did you make them yourself? I’m traveling down to Universal after the Con and my girl wanted a set of robes for our tour at Leavesden next year—”

The man kept talking, but Hermione zoned out. Her entire world stopped.

  
What the fuck was this? Why was Charlie just standing there with a stupid grin on his face? Why was he checking out the woman dressed in shorts that barely covered her arse and a shirt that read “Daddy’s Little Monster”? Holy shite, what the hell was happening?

“Charlie!” Hermione smacked his arm and dragged his attention to her. “Charlie, this is  _ not _ a Dragon Convention.”

“‘Course it’s not,” the Black Panther laughed as he snapped a photo of Hermione and Charlie. “This is  _ the _ DragonCon. Is it your first time? Who are you here to see?”

Hermione breathed deep through her nose and gripped the wand that was hiding in the folds of her robes. “We heard there was going to be a Swedish Shortsnout nesting before labor,” she tested tentatively, watching as the man’s mouth twisted down. Shit.

“Err, well, usually they keep the RPG and creature stuff near the back.” He shrugged and then turned to leave.

Hermione swung to face Charlie, heart in her throat. “Charlie. When you heard about Dragon Con, what research did you do?”

Charlie shrugged and then ran a hand through his hair. He kept peeking over at the Blonde With a Mallet. Hermione nearly stomped on his foot. “Nothing, really. Sounded great, didn’t it? Dragon Convention.”

“Oh, bugger, Charlie!” Hermione took him by the sleeve of his robe and dragged him toward the exit. “This isn’t a  _ dragon _ convention. It’s a muggle convention! Look! Everyone is dressed up as something in their pop culture!”

  
“Well — who’s  _ that? _ ” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively in the direction of the Blonde With Obvious Daddy Issues. Hermione smacked him in the stomach, ignoring how hard it was and how badly she wanted to run her fingers over it. Now was  _ not _ the time for her to dwell on her crush. “I suddenly feel underdressed.”

“Let’s get back to the hotel. We need to figure out what this is.” Hermione turned on her heel and stormed out of the convention with her chin raised high, refusing to acknowledge the group of people who walked by wearing a rainbow of colors and helmets with the eyes blacked out.

  
What the bloody hell was this place?

* * *

  
  


Back in the hotel room, Hermione sat on the edge of their single bed with her hands clenched into the scratchy duvet.

“I thought you said that we’d have two full beds,” she griped, mood soured after an hour of pushing through a crowd of people.

“Well, this was all they had, Hermione.” Charlie carded a hand through his hair as he paced in front of her. “Did you see how many people were at that convention? Thousands! We’re lucky that I booked in advance enough to even manage a room.”

Hermione put her head in her hands and leaned over her thighs. “Maybe we should just Portkey home. There are no dragons here, and we have no idea what the hell that convention actually is.”

“Awww, c’mon, Granger.” Charlie stopped pacing, his hands pulling hers from her face. When she looked up at him, he was grinning down at her. “We can make the most out of a weekend away, can’t we? You must know a little about this.”

  
“Charlie, I haven’t been part of the Muggle world in decades!” Hermione yanked her hands from him and stood abruptly. She crowded him in the only way she could being a head shorter than he was. He still smirked at her and she rolled her eyes. “What would we even get out of going? We don’t know anything about it.”

“Fun? Adventure?” He challenged her with a raised brow. “Live a little, love.”

“We don’t have any costumes,” she tried half-heartedly, a frown tugging at her lips.

“Obviously they thought we were costumed.” He pulled his wand out of his pocket and gave it a little wave.

Hermione’s robes transformed around her. Tighter. Much less than she was draped in before. She glanced down her body and blanched.

“I am  _ not _ walking around in public dressed like  _ this _ !” She stepped in front of the mirror and nearly screamed.

Instead of her usual brown ringlets, her hair was tied up in high pigtails, blonde with streaks of pink and blue. She wore a white shirt that read ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’ and a pair of blue and red colored shorts that kissed the curve of her bum. Her legs were covered in fishnet stockings and her feet were crammed into tall, spiky boots.

“Charlie!” Hermione cried out as she pushed her face close to the mirror and saw small diamonds drawn in black ink below her eyes. “What did you just do to me!”

He didn’t answer. His wand touched the side of his head, and his entire wardrobe changed right before her eyes. Rather than the faded blue jeans and Henley he’d worn only moments before, Charlie was wearing a green vest and purple pinstripe trousers. His muscular arms stayed uncovered, and he was much too suited for the look, she thought sourly.

Charlie smiled at her and she grimaced. His face was covered in white paint, save for his eyes that were lined with messy black circles and his lips that were exaggerated in bright red.

He looked like a clown. And she looked like a prostitute.

“This is ridiculous,” she groused, gesturing between them wildly. “What do you expect us to do, go back to that convention looking like  _ this _ ? We’re supposed to be working.”

Charlie raised a single brow and his lips split into a wicked grin. “That’s precisely what we’re going to do.”   
  


* * *

At least when she knew what to expect, she could school her features into something less like shock and more… awe. Charlie guided her into the convention center with a hand to the small of her back; a habit he was picking up recently, and Hermione was curious as to why. She didn’t ever move away from the warmth of his palm, though. He was soothing in a way she’d never found with any of her other friends. And, certainly, the fact that she harbored a small, tiny, really-it-was-nothing crush on him, kept her from tossing him to the floor as she would have done with anyone else had they tried to place their hands upon her person.

The difference this time, of course, was that he’d transfigured her sensible jumper into a midriff baring scant bit of tee shirt. Skin on skin, burned her down to her core.

“Let’s get one of those maps so we know where we’re going,” Charlie said right into her ear, so close that she jumped right into him. He chuckled and steadied her and Hermione wanted to sink into the hard, stone floor. “You’re jumpy today. Is it my makeup?”

Hermione sighed. “I don’t understand why we had to wear costumes. Or come back. We don’t even know these people.”

  
“Look at that bloke!” Charlie’s finger stretched out in front of him, aimed at literally anyone. Hermione couldn’t tell. “He looks like a… fish...man?”

“Aquaman,” Hermione whispered, despite that she didn’t want to know who or what that was, the trident was something of a dead giveaway. “Oh Merlin, Charlie, I think I know where we are.”

“Aquaman? Muggles are the best.” He laughed, truly chuffed. “Is this like a Halloween — no, it’s too early for that.”

“No. There’s something like this in London. A comic convention. People dress up like their favorite characters.” She gnawed on her lip as her eyes followed the path of an extremely, inhumanly tall man decked out in chaotic brown fur and a strap of ammunition. “Chewbacca!”

She jumped from Charlie’s arms and took off at high speed toward the fuzzy costume, leaving her friend behind her without a second thought. “Chewbacca!” She flailed her arms in the air and chased him down until he finally heard his name.

He didn’t say a word. Just a classic “ UUAHAHHHAAAAAAAAAA”. It was so perfect, that she couldn’t help but grin.

Charlie approached cautiously, his eyes flickering between her and the lengthy Wookie. “Who’s your friend, Hermione?”

She grinned. “This is Chewbacca. An icon from an old mug— old movie about space.”

Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut off as a high pitched squeal pierced the space around them. A girl in a pair of jean shorts and a tee shirt that read ‘Talk nerdy to me’ approached them with a massive grin and an outstretched camera.

“Oh my gosh!” she was positively alight with energy. “Harley and Joker! It’s a brilliant cosplay! Can I get a photo?” 

She shoved her camera above her face and squeezed in between Hermione and Charlie before either of them could answer. The flash went off, momentarily startling Hermione, before the girl was off again in a blur, and into the crowd.

Hermione shook her head, and realized Chewbacca had also walked away. “This is the strangest thing I’ve ever been a part of,” she mused, though she couldn’t keep the tug of a smile off her lips. “I’m going to go ahead and guess that you’re Joker and I’m Harley Quinn.”

“Muggles have the oddest role models,” Charlie chuckled, sidling up next to Hermione again. “Where to, then?”

“Let’s just walk around a bit?” Hermione didn’t wait for him to respond. She led him into the crowd, which had the delightful result of Charlie sticking close, arm to arm.

“Harley!” so many shouts from the crowd drew her attention. She’d smile and wave, and stop for pictures along the way. Even Charlie received his fair share of attention; with other girls dressed as this Harley character pressing themselves close as they snapped photos.

It wasn’t until a particularly beautiful man with long cropped green hair and dreamy dark eyes pulled her aside and requested a photo, that Hermione wondered if Charlie might be a little jealous. The bloke was very kind, even asked permission to snake his arm around her shoulders and hold her close. Her eyes flitted to Charlie, whose eyes darkened toward her. His biceps flexed as he crossed his arms. She couldn’t stop watching him, even as she smiled for the photo and chatted with the stranger.

Charlie had enough, she assumed, when he strolled over to them with his hands deep inside the pocket of his purple trousers. A smirk rested on his lips. “Ready, love?”

Hermione muttered a goodbye and turned to follow Charlie as he led her toward Merlin-Knew-Where.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of Charlie and Hermione’s journey to Atlanta. I know it’s a week after your birthday, LK, but I hope you had the best day and felt all the love from your friends!

After hours of trekking through the convention center, and learning far too much about Muggle culture, Hermione and Charlie found themselves in a booth at a Muggle bar within walking distance from their hotel. Hidden away in the back and faces cast in shadow, they nursed healthy portions of whiskey.

They were sharing the bar with so many caped crusaders and villains, and one group of people who Hermione was sure were supposed to be a cohesive set, but couldn’t figure out how a green woman in spandex, a gigantic tree holding an armed raccoon, and a bloke in a weird helmet belonged together. She watched as the tree ordered a fruity drink and struggled to get the bendy straw into where she presumed its mouth was. Hermione giggled and turned to face Charlie.

“This is the most bizarre day of my life.” She chose to say nothing as Charlie’s arm snaked around the back of the booth above her shoulders. “And that’s saying something, because one time I took Polyjuice Potion to pretend to be Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Charlie lifted his tumbler to his lips and sipped. “I once sat in a dragon’s nest as she birthed because she wouldn’t allow me to leave her pen.”

“Isn’t that every day for you?” She pointedly ignored that his fingers had curled around her shoulders and were playing with the threads on her Daddy’s Little Girl tee shirt.

When he glanced at her, and his big grin hit her full force, Hermione felt the coil that’d been building for months finally snap. He shrugged a shoulder and finished off the rest of his drink in one big gulp. “Some of us weren’t as ballsy as an eighteen year old Hermione Granger.”

“You’re right.” She stared over the lip of her glass as she chucked the remaining liquid down her throat and then slammed it onto the table. “Some of us gallivant with nesting dragons and face the wrath of Molly Weasley over tattoos and book a single bed at a Muggle hotel with Hermione Granger after spending the day making her randy as hell.”

Silence followed. Deep, electric silence. And she refused, absolutely  _ refused _ , to break their eye contact. No matter how dark his gaze became or how tight his fingers were on her shoulder. She swallowed, but kept her eyes glued to his.

“Enlightening,” he said under his breath, fingers loosening their grip and beginning a trail from her shoulder, along the blade, and up the side of her neck. “One would think that some of us might have done at least one of those things on purpose.”

She couldn’t stop the blush if she tried. It crept up her cheeks unbidden, and remained so as his tongue swept his plump bottom lip. Even in caked on makeup, even in a purple vest that clashed with his wavy ginger hair, Charlie Weasley was fucking fit. And she was so, so completely buggered.

Charlie flipped a bubblegum pink strand of her hair around his finger and smiled at it.

“Honestly, if you enjoy your mother’s wrath so much, might I suggest—” Hermione’s words were cut off as Charlie’s face moved closer. So close. Unbearably close. He smelled like heaven and pine trees and spearmint, and she wanted to nibble that bottom lip something fierce.

“Stop talking about my mother.” His voice was low, so quiet that she was really only certain that he said anything at all because she could feel the vibration against her ear. “There’s a bloke across the room that hasn’t stopped looking at you. Care to escort me out of here before there’s a reason for a hundred Aurors to storm Atlanta?”

She warred with herself. Lose eye contact with Charlie and find out which bloke had his eye on her, or keep eye contact with Charlie and risk snogging him there and then in the booth.

In the end, her curiosity won. Hermione’s eyes flitted through the pub, and it wasn’t hard to find the very good looking man dressed in a black suit coat and jeans, square black frames, with a small shining blue circle in the middle of his chest. A very, very good looking man. Hermione’s bottom lip sprung open.

Was everyone in Muggle pop culture so bloody good looking?

“Found him, then?” Charlie’s growl did wicked things to her insides. “What’s your choice, Princess?”

Oh, Circe and Morgana above. She wasn’t one for pet names, and especially not along the lines of princess, but whether it was the sting of the booze or the way she’d watched his muscles flex and stretch all day, Hermione was damn certain that if he called her princess one more time, she’d jump him right on the table.

Instead, like the law abiding and not at all voyeuristic girl that she was, Hermione pressed her thighs together, swallowed thickly, and breathed deep. “Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

The thing about Charlie Weasley, was that Hermione had harbored a crush on him for most of her life. Roguish, adventuring, cheeky Charlie. He was fun, he was wickedly clever, and while she didn’t base all of her opinions on physical appearance, it would be an outright lie if she said she hadn’t noticed all of his sculpted edges. The man was practically a statue. She’d had to avert her gaze from him on more than one occasion when her mind had wandered to truly inappropriate places.

When they entered their hotel room and his purple vest was flung to the floor just so happened to be one of those times. Freckles everywhere. Hard lines in the most alluring places. A trail of dark hair from bellybutton to… Hermione released a breath and kicked off her uncomfortable boots as she turned around and pretended to busy herself with anything that wasn’t the man behind her.

“You know, I think those shorts suit you.” He was so close, she could feel the heat of his body radiating against her back. He was going to kill her, positively demolish all of her self control. “Don’t like the blonde hair, though.”

She felt his magic wash over her. In seconds, her hair was back to the brunette waves it has been before their trek into the comic convention.

“Better.” His hand moved to the hairs at her shoulder and swiped them to one side. “Do you know what it was like to watch you all day today?”

Had he been watching? Hermione bit her lip. If he had, he probably noticed the way her eyes lingered on him, on his smiling lips, and strong chin. He’d probably noticed how she’d narrowed her eyes at any girl in latex she’d seen flirt with him.

“No,” she whispered, turning on her heel and coming face to face with his clavicle. She lifted her chin and gulped. “I didn’t realize that you were struggling with all those costumed women hanging all over you.”

His face split in a lopsided grin. “Jealous, love?”

She peered up at him through her long eyelashes, and watched the challenge flash through his eyes. His fingers touched her waist, tapped a line from the curve of her hip and up her side. Like he was creating a rhythm, a song, just from touching her. Hermione shivered as his fingers danced across her ribcage and then down the flat expanse of her stomach.

“I only had eyes for you.” His breath fanned across her face, blowing her curls around and sending a tingle straight to her core. “Watching you prance about in these shorts, those stockings and boots. I’d be the dumbest man alive not to notice you.”

A breath left her, hot and shallow. She couldn’t think, save for mentally following the path that Charlie was creating with his fingers. Along the band of the shorts, around her hips, to the small of her back, up her spine, and down all over again. His fingers were everywhere, everywhere except for where she desperately wanted them.

“Do you notice me, too?” His lips were on her cheek. The ghost of a kiss, gentle, warm.

Heady and dizzy and so entirely overwhelmed by Charlie, Hermione hissed out a breath in one long, steady stream. His fingers grazed along her shoulder and around the back of her neck. He tugged once, forcing her chin up and her eyes to his again.

“Of course I did,” she admitted, stomach coiling at the way Charlie’s eyes darkened beneath their blackened paint. Hermione swiped her bottom lip with her tongue, willing herself to breathe again. “I’ve always noticed you.”

That seemed to give Charlie pause. His fingers loosened from the roots of her hair, but he didn’t quite let go. His pupils were blown wide even as his face softened. Her heart beat a staccato against her sternum and up into her throat. Shit, he’d know now; he’d know everything she’d hidden from him for years. It shined out of her eyes because he was  _ so close _ and  _ so warm _ and she just couldn’t stop herself saying it.

“Define:  _ always _ .” Blue, oceanic eyes flickered with such emotion that it struck here right in the core.

“Years,” she whispered, and clenched her hands against his torso.

A growl sprang deep from his throat, and then his lips were molded to hers so utterly, devastatingly quick that he swallowed the gasp that left her. His hands tangled in her hair, she hitched her body flush against his, and lost herself in the feeling of finally,  _ finally _ knowing what those full, smooth lips tasted like. The red paint coated her lips and her cheek and she didn’t care as her nails dragged across his lower back and earned her a feral noise in response.

He stepped forward, and she stepped back until the backs of her legs hit the bed. She fell back and he hovered over her; their lips hadn’t parted for a single moment, and even though his weight pressed her into the mattress until she could feel the springs digging into her skin, she didn’t stop.

She’d been so lost in the feel of his lips and his hands and his breath against her skin, Hermione didn’t even realize that he’d dropped his trousers around his ankles until he felt his erection against her thigh. She shifted, running her hands along her hip to remove the fishnet stockings he’d magicked there earlier, but he stopped her.

“Leave them,” he muttered against her throat, his teeth dragging against her sensitive pulse.

“Then how—” Even with her eyes shut, she could feel his smirk. 

His face moved from her throat to her covered chest, down past her bare stomach. He reared up onto his haunches, reached forward to the apex of her fishnets, and tore them right down the middle. It did ridiculous things to her body, not the least of which was ensuring she was ready for him to take her. Here, now, on this tiny little bed in this too-small hotel room.

And he did. In one quick, hard motion, he filled her completely. Hermione’s back arched off the bed, breasts pressed against his chest and nails dug into the hard planes of his shoulders. She cried out, a moan or a gasp, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that if he didn’t move, she’d pass out from sheer want of him. 

And when he finally moved, it was pure bliss.

The room filled with their heavy pants, whispered names, the plea of more and harder and faster. As she crashed over the cliff of her orgasm, spots burst behind her eyes. Charlie kissed her lazily and pressed into her slowly until she came down from the manic buzz. He hitched her legs up and chased his own climax while her hand stroked the freckled skin of his arm.

When he crashed down next to her on the small bed, Hermione curled into him and laid her head on his chest. Her fingers danced along his sternum, creating nonsensical patterns as their breathing evened out and silence fell over the room. Charlie’s hand found her chin and tilted her face up so she could look into his eyes.

“Seems like DragonCon was an excellent idea, then,” she said, in between gentle kisses and exploring hands.

Charlie grinned, his hands flexing on her hip. “Suppose we should come back next year. We’ll need to find better costumes.”

“We have a full year to research. Lots of long nights, I’m afraid.” Hermione leaned back and tugged off the offensive Daddy’s Little Girl shirt, flinging it to the floor.

He smiled, placed a soft kiss on her lips, and sighed. “I always knew you’d be a lion in the sheets.”

“Define:  _ always. _ ”

His arm wound around her back and dragged her on top of him. “Years.


End file.
